


Summer Storm

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-11
Updated: 2006-08-11
Packaged: 2018-10-26 06:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10781874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Sleep is elusive.





	Summer Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: [](http://community.livejournal.com/100quills/profile)[**100quills**](http://community.livejournal.com/100quills/): Weather  
For [](http://tamlane.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tamlane.livejournal.com/)**tamlane**!  


* * *

Sleep is elusive. It’s another restless night with tangled sheets and sweaty skin. Hermione wishes she could blame the weather, but doing so would be pointless. It’s not the squall outside that has her skin tingling and her mind thinking things she shouldn’t. No, it’s the storm inside that has been building over the last week that won’t let her sleep.

Instead of thunder and lightning, she feels passion and desire raging within the walls of the small cottage. There’s a noise outside her door, and her breath catches. She waits, hoping that her door will open and this fierce need will finally be sated. Instead, footsteps continue down the hall, leaving her frustrated and annoyed.

With a low groan, she hits her mattress with her fist. It doesn’t change anything but it does make her feel better. Why did he have to be so bloody stubborn? It’s obvious that he wants the same things she does, but he refuses to admit it. He wears his age like a shield of armor, ignoring her pathetic attempts at flirting, but she can feel him watching her and knows he feels the same.

She’s not a child, despite his insistence on treating her as such, and she’s not completely innocent. Her brief relationship with Ron a couple of years ago took care of that issue. She’s twenty-two years-old, independent and has a job she loves, but he seems to refuse to see her as anything more than the child he first met seven years ago. He’s only a dozen years older than her, but he acts like he’s twice her age. He uses the assignment to keep a wall between them, and she knows it’s wrong for her to pursue this when he is working. However, she hasn’t ever wanted anyone as desperately as she wants him.

This is silly, she decides as she rolls out of bed. A flash of lightning lights the room when she walks to the door. Hermione takes a deep breath and gathers that infamous Gryffindor courage before she opens the door. The cottage is quiet and dark save for the sounds of the weather outside. She hates being stuck here, even if it is for her own protection, and wants to leave so she can find out who sent her the threatening letters regarding her research. Instead, Harry pulled out the whining puppy-dog-eyes that she can never resist and here she is, stuck in the middle of nowhere with a man that she wants.

When she enters the small sitting room, she sees him standing by the window. The flicker of candlelight casts his dark skin in shadows. Her gaze moves over his bare back, noticing various scars from a rough profession, and lingers on the firm curves of his arse. He’s wearing denims that ride low on his hips, most likely the first thing he picked up when he got out of bed, and she licks her lips as she stares at his bare hipbones. She takes a step towards him and cringes when the floorboard creaks. So much for a sneak attack, she thinks crossly.

He turns and stares at her, his eyes narrowing when he sees her. Her breath catches when she notices the tawny color of his irises, wondering if he has any idea how much she loves his eyes. While she appreciates his tall, muscular body and the dark skin that makes her ache to touch, it’s his eyes and the barely-there half-smile that tempt her the most. And his voice. God, his voice can make her come just from hearing him read from his reports. It’s low and deep and sends shivers through her in a way she should probably resent.

“You should be in bed,” he murmurs as his gaze sweeps over her.

It feels like he has touched her when he’s done. Her breasts feel heavy, her nipples are tight, her knickers are damp, and her skin is flushed. She doesn’t know what it is about him that affects her in this way since no other man has ever accomplished that even during actual shagging. She’d by lying if she said she hadn’t thought of him before, but it wasn’t until they were sent here to wait that she allowed herself to indulge in the wickedest of her fantasies.

“I can’t sleep,” she tells him with a hint of stubbornness. For a week, he’s ignored her or made her feel like a silly child. She’s tired of it and plans to remind him that she’s a woman, even if it requires being embarrassingly brazen.

A crack of thunder from outside makes her jump, but she doesn’t look away from his gaze. His hands clench into fists and he looks almost like he did when he was preparing for battles during the war. His jeans aren’t completely fastened, she notices, and she bites her lip to keep from whimpering when she realizes she can see dark hair where they gape open.

“Go to bed, Hermione,” he commands in a voice that makes her shudder. She hates taking orders, but, God, she’d do just about anything he told her if he said it in that voice. However, this is one time she refuses to obey.

“No,” she says firmly as she takes a step closer. “I won’t be sent to bed like a child, Kingsley.”

“You’re behaving like one,” he tells her. He reaches up to rub his neck and he looks at her in a way no man ever has before. Any doubts she had are dispelled because it’s obvious with that one look that he wants her. “It’s too dangerous for you to be here right now, little girl. Run along and lock your door.”

“I’m not a little girl,” she snaps back, feeling rather immature for having to argue that point. “Danger doesn’t scare me.”

“It should,” he mutters as he turns abruptly to stare out the window. “You don’t know what kind of games you’re playing, girl, so I suggest you get back to your room before it’s too late.”

“I know what I’m doing, Kingsley.” She reaches out and shyly moves her fingers over his shoulderblade. He tenses beneath her hand and she is startled when another crash of thunder nearly shakes the walls of the cottage.

Before she has a chance to breathe, he strikes. She finds herself pushed against the wall, her head hitting the frame of a painting, and then he’s everywhere. His mouth is punishing as he kisses her, his hands are rough as they squeeze her arse and then move beneath her thin cotton nightgown, and his body is hard as he presses against her.

“This is what you want?” he growls before he bites her lip. His hand kneads her breast, tugging on her nipple until she whimpers from pain or pleasure or a little of both. “You’ve been playing all bloody week, little girl. Tempting me and flirting with that shy sexuality that makes me want to fuck you until you can’t move.”

Hermione moans at his words, gripping his broad shoulders as she arches off the wall. She’s never heard him talk like this, and it excites her more than she wants to analyze at the moment. He’s usually soft spoken and firm, and can talk to her about a variety of subjects most people don’t know anything about. But she’s seen glimpses of this, has suspected he was rough and wild, and she wants more.

He steps away suddenly and runs his hand over his smooth head. “Run along, Hermione,” he murmurs in a voice that hints that he barely has control. “It’s your last chance for me to be a gentleman about this.”

She raises her head and meets his gaze. “I don’t need a warning, Kingsley,” she tells him softly. “I want you.”

“Stubborn fucking brat,” he mutters as lightning flashes outside. “I warned you.”

That’s all he says before he’s there again, mouth on hers and hand ripping her knickers. She gasps at the sting of the material snapping against her skin and moans as she scratches his back. He growls against her mouth before he raises her up and pushes her hard against the wall. It’s not gentle or tender at all, but Hermione doesn’t need that. She wants this, wants him to lose his control in a way she’s never seen, and wants to lose herself in a passion she didn’t realize she possessed.

He slides into her with one thrust that makes her cry out in surprise. He’s thick and it’s been years for her and she’s too tight but she’s wet and has been wanting him for what feels like ages so her body is ready. He groans against her neck before he bites her sweaty skin and begins to move. It’s awkward and uncomfortable but she shifts and soon forgets anything but the feel of him against her.

He fucks her hard and deep, grunting as he grips her hips and breasts and pulls her down to meet his thrusts. She knows she’ll have bruises when he’s done but doesn’t care. It doesn’t take long before she’s grinding against him, weeks (months) of desire overwhelming her. He reaches between them and twists her clit, chuckling against her shoulder when she whimpers and comes hard.

She’s still trembling from her orgasm when he pulls out of her. She can feel sticky wetness on her upper thighs and her legs are shaky as she stands. He pushes her against the sofa and moves behind her, entering her again as she grips the back of the sofa. His chest rubs against her sweaty back and he pants against her ear as he holds her hips tightly and drags her back against him.

Her breasts bounce with every thrust forward and she holds the sofa tightly as he shifts and changes angle, going even deeper than before. She feels him tense before her before he grunts and spills inside her cunt. He falls forward against her, squeezing her breast as he keeps moving while he comes. Once he’s spent, he stays buried inside her cunt and kisses her shoulderblade lightly.

Her body is sore when he finally pulls out. There are bite marks and bruises on her skin, and her cunt is ultra-sensitive after the force and depth of his strokes. She doesn’t know what to say, so she pushes her nightgown down and runs her hand through her messy hair. When she looks at him, she feels the tingles in her belly and realizes that this did nothing to satisfy her desire for him.

He stares at her and reaches out to run his thumb over a bite mark on her neck. Instead of apologizing, as she fears, or making excuses, he smirks and moves his hand down her back to grip her arse possessively. He doesn’t have to say it for her to know what he’s thinking. Mine. Hermione hears another rumble of thunder and finds herself smiling shyly as she reaches out to touch his chest, rubbing her thumb over his nipple before she kisses his jaw.

They don’t bother to speak as they put out the candles and leave the sitting room. She doubts either of them knows exactly what to say right now, anyway. Instead, they go to her room as the storm begins to calm down outside.

End


End file.
